The Things That Will Likes
by pebblysand-jacksam4eva
Summary: "Fuck, he thinks, he really likes Alicia Florrick."


**A/N: **This has to be the first author's note of my life where I really don't know what to say. Enjoy, I guess, and please review. I think The Good Wife is going to turn into my next TV obsession very soon.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. I'm a student and I'm broke so please, don't sue. But trust me, if I got a dollar for all the minutes of my life I've wasted caring too much about TV, I wouldn't be.

By the way, I'm French and un-beta-ed so all mistakes are mine (and I apologize for them :D).

* * *

**The Things That Will Likes**

He likes to watch her dress.

That's something he discovers on their first morning together when his head is propped up against a pile of pillows and she tries to locate their clothes through the feeble, milky light that barely penetrate the room. For seventy-eight hundred bucks a night, he's made sure they used all the space they could.

He likes to watch her smile, he likes to hear her laugh; but these are things that he already knew. He likes the way her hair falls just under her shoulder - a bit curlier this morning because he had already trapped her body against the bathroom wall before she'd finished drying them - he likes the intensity of her stares, the way she looks at him, the way she talks, the way she smells.

Yesterday night, he discovered a lot of things about himself, answered a lot of questions he'd been pondering over ever since the night he met her at that pool party in Georgetown. Yes, he likes to run his mouth down her throat, feeling goosebumps form across her skin and tickling the inside of her arms. Yes, he likes the smell and the taste of her on his tongue and fingers, hearing the sound of his name on her lips as she shivers under him. Yes, he likes what it feels like to be buried deep inside her, to kiss her like she'll be his forever, to listen to her dirty whispers, to her pleas, to run his thumb over her nipple and leave a trail of hot, sloppy kisses down her stomach. He likes the fact that now, if he ever has to state for the record that they've never slept together, aren't sleeping together, will never sleep together, he'll be lying.

He likes the fact that now, he knows what it feels like to make her come.

"What?" She asks, her right hand holding onto the heel of one of her shoes. Chicago's sixteenth most eligible bachelor, he realizes, is a man who's just spent half his life fantasizing about a girl he met when he was barely above twenty – a kid, really – and could never grow the courage to ask out.

"Nothing. Your other shoe's there, by the way," he points to an empty space by his side of the bed and when she's close enough, he grabs her by the waist and pulls her back down above him.

He wants the both of them to be naked again.

"Will!" She giggles and tries to push herself up so he quickly flips them over and in seconds he's on top of her, pinning her down against the sheets. His lips find her collarbone and his fingers tug at the hem of her shirt, exposing more and more skin for him to taste and touch and graze with his morning stubble. "Oh," she gasps, "Will, I need to," she whispers and moves a little but his arm blocks her again, "go home, change and –" her mouth almost burns against him and he just can't, can't think about anything else than the feeling of his tongue meeting hers. It's only five, they still have time, the sun isn't even fully up yet and, "Oh, screw it," she says and his body shakes with laughter.

Fuck, he thinks, he really likes Alicia Florrick.

**o - o - o**

Later, he contemplates her, trailing a finger down her arm, drawing abstract patterns on her skin, his gaze drifting along the soft shadows the daylight shades over her body. She looks content, rested, satisfied.

"I should go, Will,"

"Yeah, you should."

"I'm going to be late,"

"I'm sure your boss won't mind."

"Well, as far as I know, Will, I'm sleeping with _you_," she pauses, "not with Diane."

Oh, _that_.

He smiles at the thought and it's not entirely his fault, he wants to stress, - he's a man after all - but Alicia shoots him a look that makes him stop. Slowly, teasingly it seems, she starts to dress again and looks for her missing shoe.

He debates keeping as a token but that would probably be crossing the line. "I think it's under the couch," he says and it turns out he's right.

**o - o - o**

"Wait," he calls after her as she pulls her purse over her shoulder, "I'll come with you, get some clothes from my car."

"You're not going home?"

No, he's not. "For seventy-eight hundred dollars, I'm going to stay here until they throw me out."

(When they exit the room, she smiles at the sight of him with his shirt hanging loosely over his Italian dress pants and a coy grin spread across his face. "What?" he echoes her first question and she shakes her head in silence.)

**o - o - o**

In the corridor, they don't wait for the elevator this time, the buttons aren't all pushed and it doesn't take them forever to get down. It's a bridge, he muses, once he's crossed yesterday and crossing it again will never be as scary. It's a change though, it's always a change, and change brings all kinds of unpredictable consequences and he can't help but feeling nervous at the idea of what will happen today, tomorrow, next month, so he kisses her again, just because he can, just because although they have yet to talk about it yet, this is obviously more than one hour of good timing, more, he hopes, than some random amount of time he was granted to figure out what he likes about Alicia Florrick. But he has to admit it's still something he's settling for, as if half of his dream is all he'll ever be able to achieve and holding her like this he almost feels as alive as he did last night when he thought he was finally, _finally_ starting to understand what it was like to feel something. But then, he looks in the mirror and remembers he's not supposed to apologize for who he is, for his choices, he never does, never will.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from her lips and buries his nose in the crook of her neck, mutters something in her ear, "stay," he tells her, begs her, "we could have breakfast in bed like we did in Georgetown. Or we could have pizza. Remember when we had pizza at four in the morning?"

Breathing deeply, he feels her body move against his chest before the elevator finally *dings* and opens and Alicia escapes out of his grasp, taking a couple of steps into the parking lot. "I really can't, Will."

He catches up with her and grabs her hand, walking her to her car. It makes him feel like he's sixteen years old again but he likes holding her hand, too.

"I could _convince_ you," he jokes in her ear.

"We've just had sex, Will,"

"So?" He arcs an eyebrow at her, a suggestive, mischievous twinkle crossing his glance. "Oh, come on, take your mind out of the gutter Alicia Florrick, I'm a lawyer, don't you think I have other tricks up my sleeve?"

She chuckles and he kisses her again when they reach the car, her hips pinned against the door. It's still too early for anyone to see them and he has to admit he's quite glad about that because he's not sure he's ready to see his face plastered on the front page of every local newspaper quite yet, not when they still have to discuss what kind of arrangement this is. If it even is an arrangement. "We'll talk about this later, okay?" she says when he pulls out.

It's weird for him to be the one who's overthinking this. He usually gets dumped for not caring enough. "You want to do this again, right?"

"Will, I – We'll talk –"

"Alicia," he sighs, "this the kind of thing I need to know before I walk into your office later to – talk this through,"

He stops breathing for a couple of seconds.

"Yes, Will, but we need–"

God she's beautiful.

"'Yes,' that's all I needed. We'll talk later I promise."

She's inside her car after one last kiss and Will's almost gone by the time she lowers her window and calls him back. "Look, I just –" she breathes, "I just don't want things to change, okay?"

"They won't," he swears and watches her go. They will. They always do. It's the way it goes between them, things change and he fucks up. But he lies and tells himself at least it's a white lie, one he tells to protect her (or to protect himself, he's not sure). All he knows is that he's had the exact three same words trapped at the back of his throat ever since he left that message on her voicemail a year ago and they keep trying to escape, making him bleed every time he bites his tongue to keep himself from fucking it up again.

So he keeps listing the things that he likes about her in his head. It's just safer that way.

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_**Thank you for reading ;).**_


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